


Dear Fellow Traveler

by Glare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mechanic Anakin, Misunderstandings, Professor Obi-Wan, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Various Cameos from many a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When strangers Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker both miss their flight, they become unlikely partners in the quest to get home.<br/>A modern road trip AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been bothering me all week, so I figure i'll throw it down for now. If there's interest, I'll continue. If not, well, I'll probably continue it anyways.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Title pulled from [HERE](https://youtu.be/UUw1e7vvSRY)
> 
> Edited 10/11 for minor format corrections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work now has a chinese translation, thanks to Susan! You can find it [HERE ](http://www.mtslash.org/thread-205385-1-1.html)!

**You put your hand out**  
**Opened the door**  
**You said come with me boy, I want to show you something more**

 **Dear Fellow Traveller,** **Sea Wolf**

* * *

 Obi-Wan Kenobi watches his flight accelerate down the runway from the beautiful panoramic windows of the airport terminal, unable to choke down the moan of despair that seems to be an adequate summary of the situation. This isn’t fair.

He’d arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Enough time to, in theory, allow for any number of unforeseen circumstances and still make the flight. Too much time, if you were to ask any of his friends about this particular habit—but that’s not the point. He had plenty of time, extra copies of his tickets, luggage measured and weighed ensure its compliance with the airline’s guidelines as to not incur any surprise fees. He was the picture of a well-prepared traveler; the poster child of frequent fliers across the globe.

Unfortunately for Obi-Wan Kenobi, airport security hadn’t shared this opinion.

Even now, as he’s watching the plane he’s supposed to be on disappear into a cloudbank, Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure what they’d detained him for—only that it required them to rifle through his meticulously packed belongings and hold him in the security office just long enough to allow him to watch his flight take off without him. Obi-Wan groans again in general protest of his situation. Of course the one day he actually needed a delay, everything is running according to schedule.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The sounds of hurried footsteps, shouted protests from passerby’s, and clattering luggage draw Obi-Wan from his sulking. A man is tearing down the hall at a breakneck pace, dodging and weaving through the more sedate travelers who complain loudly when he bumps into them as he passes. He’s tall, wide at the shoulders but slim around the waist, dressed in dark browns and blacks atypical to the population of such a hot city as Tatooine. Long hair, not brown and not blonde, trails behinds him. There’s a large pack slung over his shoulder and a panicked look in his eyes as he comes to a jarring halt next to Obi-Wan, letting out an almost identical protesting groan when he realizes that whatever flight he’d been trying to make has also left him behind. Obi-Wan might have even been impressed with the creativity of the expletives the man delivers if not for the glaring of nearby parents, their hands over the ears of small children. Obi-Wan sidesteps, flashing an apologetic look that hopefully conveys the sentiment of _I’m not with him_. They don’t seem particularly convinced, and Obi-Wan chooses the next moment to flee before an even bigger scene is made.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker is running late. There’s nothing particularly unusual about this fact; he’s been living his life in a continual state of tardiness since before he was old enough to understand what the word meant. He likes to think he had an excuse this time—that maybe the universe will take pity on him after spending the weekend at his mother’s funeral. It only seems fair, and when it came to airports, delays are almost more likely than a flight actually departing on time. It doesn’t seem to be the case today, as he stumbles to a halt in front of the terminal’s large viewing windows only to watch the tail-end of his flight disappear into the clouds.

He’d gotten through security in record time, nearly knocked down an elderly man in his haste to try and make the flight, and he’s still been left behind. Anakin is only vaguely aware of the man standing beside him at the window, his uncomfortable shuffling at odds with the half-impressed look on his face. This is mostly because the man disappears only moments later, likely driven off by Anakin’s impressive vocabulary. He can’t say he’s particularly surprised; those who aren’t native to the city of Tattooine are often startled by its occupants’ creativity when it came to the delicate art of cursing. Anakin grew up here, giving him a solid foundation only built upon in later years as he picked up new words and phrases in his extensive travels.

There’s no point in moping around. He needs to get a new flight if he’s to make it back to Coruscant, not to mention the angry stares he’s getting from parents for his outburst, so Anakin takes leave from the terminal and heads for the ticketing desks.

He’s surprised to see the man from earlier already there, wearing an expression Anakin would hate to be on the receiving end of. As he edges closer, he can hear their conversation.

“What do you mean there’s no available flights?” The man snarls.

“I’m sorry, sir,” The woman behind the desk says, not sounding particularly sorry at all, really, “but all our Coruscant flights are booked full. I can get you on a flight next week—”

“Next week?” The man squawks. “You don’t understand, I have to be back by—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman says again in that patronizing tone, “but there’s nothing we can do.”

That seems to be the end of discussion, at least in her mind, because she gestures for the next customer to step forward and the man is unceremoniously shoved out of the way. He’s older than Anakin and a few inches shorter, with auburn hair and a matching, nearly-trimmed beard. His white sweater and khaki slacks would be better suited to the flight he was supposed to make than the oppressive Tatooinian sun. He’s also, from what was overheard, going the same place. And if there’s no seats for him until next week, there certainly aren’t going to be any for Anakin. This leaves him in quite the dilemma.

Anakin isn’t due back at work for a few days yet, having scheduled the early flight home to allow himself time to adjust back into the busy atmosphere of Coruscant and to work through the lingering emotions brought on by his mother’s passing. He’s thankful for the foresight now; it gives him a little wiggle room, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still needs to get back. Flights to and from Coruscant are infrequent, seeing as very few people return to such a backwater town willingly, and departing flights are almost always booked full. Even if he were to hang around on reserve and pray for an open seat somewhere, the chances of actually getting one would be slim to none. He doesn’t think he could stand to be crammed on a bus for as extensive a trip as this, which leaves…

A flashing sign reading _Car Rentals_ catches his eye. It’s not ideal; Tatooine is about as far from Coruscant as you can possibly get. Anakin likes driving, but four straight days is intimidating even for him. Not to mention expensive, with gas factored in. His eyes flick to the ginger-haired man, who’s seated himself at a nearby bench and is talking rapidly into his phone. He’s likely in just as much of a hurry to get out of this dustbowl as Anakin, maybe even more so if his scowl is anything to go by, and he doesn’t _look_ like some sort of lunatic with a hidden agenda. He’s quite attractive, actually, in a stuffy professor kind of way. This… could work.

Heaving a sigh, Anakin throws caution to the wind and marches over to the man, determined to at least give this a shot.

* * *

Obi-Wan is losing his argument for more days off with the University’s Dean, Mace Windu, when the man from earlier drops into the empty space on the bench beside him. While the smile the other man gives him might be dashing on a better day, Obi-Wan is currently running a cost-benefit analysis between losing his job and committing a homicide to free up seats on one of the upcoming departing flights. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with anything like this right now. There a dozen empty benches nearby, and Obi-Wan stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the man, continuing with his argument and hoping the unwelcome visitor will take the hint.

He doesn’t. Instead he seems to settle in for the long haul, dragging his phone from his pocket and playing with it while he waits for Obi-Wan to finish his conversation. It doesn’t take long, with Windu hanging up abruptly following a declaration to ' _get back here—I don’t care how'._ As much as Obi-Wan would like to go on ignoring the man, arguing into the phone and pretending he hasn’t noticed the arrival, the other man is close enough to hear that there isn’t a voice on the other end of the line. Instead, he pockets the device and turns to face his unwelcome visitor.

“Can I help you?” He asks, not bothering to attempt a particularly friendly tone.

“I believe so,” the other man flashes that absolutely not-dashing smile. “You missed your flight right? To Coruscant?”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan warily confirms.

“I heard you talking to the ticket lady. No flights out another week. So I was thinking, since we’re headed the same place, maybe we could help each other out.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Rent a car with me. We can split the cost, take turns driving, and we’ll be in the city in a measly few days. You can get back to whatever it is you were arguing about, and I can get back to work.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Obi-Wan says, bemused.

While the idea isn’t a bad one, he’s not entirely sold on a cross-country trip with a complete stranger. In fact, it sounds like the plotline of a cheesy romance novel. He does need to get back, however, and Obi-Wan knows he would be incapable of making the journey on his own. He loathes driving, and a bus would most certainly be out of the question.

“Anakin Skywalker,” the man offers, extending a right hand that’s tattooed up to the elbow with what appears to be a metallic skeleton.

Obi-Wan takes it with a hesitant smile. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Do you want to get out of here, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks, raising a suggestive brow and gesturing vaguely to the bustling terminal around them.

The double entendre is not lost on him, and Obi-Wan chuckles slightly before pushing himself to his feet, hauling the other man up after him.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Anakin.”


	2. Day 1: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you all ~so much~ for all the positive feedback on the first chapter. I was honestly blown away by the reception you gave this story. It means so much to me.
> 
> Without further ado, chapter 2!

It is immediately apparent that Anakin is far more equipped for this car selection business than Obi-Wan. The younger man launches into an argument over their options with the poor fellow working the rental desk, complaining about things like horsepower versus fuel efficiency and the various upgrades each car comes equipped with. Most of it goes over Obi-Wan’s head, which is hardly a surprise considering his disdain for driving. He’s licensed, you have to be to get anywhere these days, but his apartment in Coruscant is located conveniently enough that he can walk most anywhere he needs to go, forestalling the need to invest in a vehicle of his own. As such, he’s content to stand quietly at Anakin’s side, leaning up against the counter and flicking through his emails on his phone, jostled occasionally by the other man’s large, emphatic gestures.

The clerk calls his manager over, and Obi-Wan types out an appropriately passive-aggressive response to the latest email from Professor Asajj Ventress, who’s been tasked with covering Obi-Wan’s lectures while he’s away. While they both teach classes on theology and religious studies, Obi-Wan’s specialty in the ancient Jedi culture clashes with Ventress’ focus on the Sith almost as violently as the peoples they study had hundreds of years ago. They’ve had more than one shouting match on the matter, much to the amusement of their students and the despair of their colleagues. This time, Asajj is criticizing his lecture notes and subtly implying his incompetency. He’ll have to remember to send her similar censure the next time she’s called away on her own research trips.

The appropriate legalities are signed in a flurry of paper, leaving Obi-Wan’s wrist aching and his wallet substantially lighter. They receive a slip of paper, exchanged for a set of keys at a kiosk near the entrance of the parking lot, and Anakin leads the way to their vehicle with a long, confident stride.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Obi-Wan can’t help but comment, noticing Anakin’s distinctly smug smile as they approach the spot indicted by a numbered tag on the keyring.

“Hey, it’s a nice car!” He defends. “If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be driving a mini-van or something.”

Obi-wan can’t argue with the first statement: the sleek, grey car parked in their spot is quite easy on the eyes; large enough to accommodate two grown men and their luggage without sacrificing gas mileage, as Anakin has happily informed him. It is an excellent choice, and one Obi-Wan wouldn’t have made himself. The second statement he can dispute, only because if it weren’t for Anakin’s proposition, he would still be sitting in the airport praying to any deity listening to grant him mercy. This is certainly an endeavor he wouldn’t have taken on his own.

Call it willful ignorance, but Obi-Wan doesn’t quite realize the gravity of what he’s agreed to until the trunk slams shut around their luggage with an ominously definitive click. Standing with his hand on the passenger side door is a truly unfortunate moment to get cold feet, but honestly? What was he thinking? Obi-Wan is infamous amongst his friends and colleagues for his foresight and need for control. He doesn’t rush into anything, or act rashly, unless he’s been goaded by that she-devil Ventress. Yet here he is, having pledged the next four days and a cross-country journey to a man he met less than an hour ago. He must be losing his mind.

But there’s no going back now. Anakin is peering over the top of the vehicle with an expectant expression, the driver’s side door already open. He must hesitate a moment too long, because the younger man’s brow furrows slightly in concern, lips curling down into Obi-Wan might have referred to as a pout if not for the fact that Anakin Skywalker is a grown man and far too old to be _pouting_.

“Alright there, Kenobi?” Skywalker asks.

Forcing his face into what Obi-Wan hopes passes as a reassuring smile but must fall utterly flat if the expression on Anakin’s face is anything to go by, he gives a soft, “I’m fine.”

Anakin is still wearing that dubious, not-pouting expression, but climbs into the car nonetheless. Obi-Wan follows shortly afterwards, clambering in and shutting the door perhaps a bit harder than necessary, as though he might turn tail and flee back to the safety of the terminal if he doesn’t cut off that escape route fast enough. He can almost hear Ventress mocking him over this; Obi-Wan Kenobi, who spent the last week trudging through an uncharted, potentially booby-trapped (the Jedi were fond of that sort of thing) temple, frightened by the thought of spending time in close contact with a mildly-attractive twenty-something year old.

The other man’s exact age is another thing Obi-Wan adds to the list of things he doesn’t know about Anakin Skywalker, meanwhile watching the man toss the black, leather coat previously tied around his waist carelessly into the backseat. The car rumbles to life and Anakin steers it from the parking lot with confidence. Ready or not, here they go.

* * *

The first few minutes are almost stifling, the silence between them broken only by Anakin flipping idly through the pre-programmed radio stations until he finds something he likes and Obi-Wan might potentially tolerate. Not that he knows what the older man likes—he’d asked, but received only a noncommittal shrug and some vague, unhelpful muttering in response. In the passenger’s seat, Kenobi is rigid with tension and looking determinedly out the window to avoid catching Anakin’s eyes. Anakin can’t really blame him; he isn’t a stranger to what Kenobi is feeling. He’d been new at this too, once.

Anakin was eighteen when he left Tatooine—barely out of high school, with nothing more than his rucksack and a handful of cash to his name. He’d hitched a ride out of town from a trucker with soft, warm eyes and a friendly smile. There’d been no destination in mind then, but he’d known there was no future for him in the dustbowl of Tatooine. If he stayed, he’d wind up working menial jobs like the kids he’d grown up with, barely making enough to scrape by. His mother wanted better than that for him; he wanted better than that for himself.

So Anakin had hitched that ride from Qui-Gon Jinn and set out into the vast unknown, as anxious and uncomfortable as Obi-Wan is now. He's spent the first few hours of the trip answering the man’s gentle questions as Jinn tried to coax him into some semblance of calm. Anakin spent three days in Qui-Gon’s company and had almost been sorry to part ways when he decided to stay in one of the many towns they’d stopped at and pick up work. There’s a worn photo of the two of them in his bag with the man’s number scrawled in his untidy hand along the back, should he ever need a place to go. He hasn’t had occasion to call it yet, but it’s a comfort to have it there.

After that first trip, it became easier. He’d bounce from town to town, working for one repair shop or another until he’d had his fill of the place and take off once again. The nomadic life hadn’t really been his plan when he’d left Tattooine, but none of the places he stayed ever clicked as somewhere he’d like to settle, and he can’t say he felt those years were a waste. Anakin’s seen so many place, met so many people, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Obi-Wan shuffle in his seat for what is likely the hundredth time. It’s obvious that his companion does not share his ease when it comes to traveling with strangers. Anakin likes to think he has good instincts for people, though, and that they’ve led him to Kenobi for a reason. If he can just get Kenobi to settle, the trip will go monumentally easier for the both of them.

“So” he asks, both in a bid to break the silence and for the sake of his own curiosity, “what brings a guy like you to Tatooine?”

“Research,” Obi-Wan spits out. It’s not much of an answer, and certainly isn’t doing much to further conversation.

“Researching what?” Anakin scoffs. “Sand?”

“An ancient Jedi temple was recently unearthed a few miles outside the city,” Obi-Wan supplies with a put-upon sigh, as though he has something better to be doing than answering questions. Anakin marks it down as the other man’s nerves, because the endless sea of dunes they’re currently traveling through isn’t nearly fascinating enough to require any close study. “It was requested that I assist with the investigation of the temple and verify that it is, indeed, of Jedi origin.”

“So what are you, Indiana Jones or something?”

Obi-Wan scowls, the expression of a man who’s heard that joke one too many times before, and Anakin revels in at least getting something out of him. So much so that he’s helpless to stop that giggles that bubble up in his chest, escaping without his permission.

“Your face is priceless,” Anakin explains through his own laughter at Obi-Wan’s baffled expression. “So you’re what then? What do you have to do to get invited to check out temples to a long-dead religion?”

“I’m a professor at Coruscant University. I’m something of an expert on the Jedi culture. And yourself?”

Having been distracted by the road, it takes a moment for Anakin to realize that his companion has asked him a question in return. “Hm?”

“What do you do for a living? Or do you hitchhike professionally?”

“Once upon a time. Not anymore, though. I’m a mechanic for one of the shops in Coruscant.”

“And is that what you’ve always wanted to do? Work on cars?”

The question is surprisingly personal—enough so that Anakin’s attention turns from the road to his companion. Obi-Wan seems to have relaxed over the duration of their conversation; Anakin’s teasing has worked its magic. Kenobi’s finally settled down into the seat, one arm propped against the door, leaning his head on his hand and watching Anakin with intelligent, blue-grey eyes. The intensity of his scrutiny makes Anakin suck in a sharp breath, jerking his eyes back forward quickly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. He’d of course noticed earlier that Obi-Wan was attractive but here in the enclosed space of the car, the sun catching in his auburn hair and setting it alight, it seems to be amplified tenfold.

“N-no. I, um, I’m planning on getting my pilots license eventually. I want to fly.”

Obi-Wan shifts his gaze back to the road that stretches out before them, to Anakin’s immense relief. He appears to contemplate something for a moment before his lips curl into a wry grin, a soft chuckle emanating from somewhere deep in the older man’s chest.

“What?” Anakin huffs, suddenly unsure of what has spurned his companion’s shift of mood. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“I have no doubt you could; you don't seem like the type to give up on a dream. I was just feeling sorry for your future passengers,” Obi-Wan teases. “What use is a pilot that can’t even make his own flight?”

Anakin stares blankly at the other man for a moment before a startled laugh rips from him, and the pair dissolve into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of their situation. Silence settles over the vehicle afterward, but this time it’s peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for stopping by!  
> I'm going to try and update this at least once a week, so I'll see you then!


	3. Day 1: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to keep a regular update schedule  
> Me: Immediately misses the next month's worth of updates
> 
> Somebody come over here and punch me in the face.

Obi-Wan starts awake when the car careens wildly to one side, then the other, slamming his head against the window with enough force that he’ll probably develop a headache in the near future. He hadn’t meant to drift off, but considering the week he had exploring the temple, it’s not altogether surprising that exhaustion finally caught up with him. Between the soft music that played through the radio and the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun, it’d been (disturbingly) easy to surrender to the lull of sleep. If only awakening had been as painless.

“Shit,” Anakin is muttering, eyes only half on the road as he fumbles around for something in the backseat with one hand, “shit.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Obi-Wan snarls, grabbing hold of the roll bar more out of instinct than conscious thought as the car drifts dangerously close to the yellow divider.

“My phone,” Anakin whines, yanking the wheel and pulling them abruptly back into the safety of their own lane, “It’s in my jacket.”

A driver the next lane over speeds past them, laying on the horn and flashing the pair an offensive gesture as they go. Obi-Wan scoffs, mildly affronted, and proceeds to bat Anakin’s groping hand out of the way.

“Keep your eyes on the road. I’ll get it.”

Anakin’s hands returned to their rightful place on the wheel, the ride smooths out almost immediately and Obi-Wan begins his hunt for the jacket the other man had discarded at the beginning of their trip.

Following the sound of tinny ringing, Obi-Wan finds the garment pooled on the floor mats just behind Anakin’s seat, apparently having shifted there some time during the journey. It takes a moment to rifle through all the pockets—he hadn’t noticed before, but there really are too many of them—before finally locating the offending device.

The screen is alight with a photo of a slightly younger Anakin and a petite, brunette woman. They appear to be at one of Coruscant’s public parks, if the fountain in the background is any indication. Anakin and the woman are sprawled out on a traditional checkered picnic blanket, Anakin’s arm around her shoulders and one of her hands outstretched to the camera, as though trying to hide from the photo. The effect is ruined by the fact that they’re both laughing at the photographer, obviously unbothered by the intrusion. The caller ID reads _Padme,_  followed by a small heart emoticon.

Anakin takes the device with a lopsided grin, and Obi-Wan chokes on something that feels suspiciously like disappointment. He’s not entirely sure what he’s disappointed about, so he files the emotion away in the increasingly worrying pile of evidence gathered today that he may possibly be losing his mind and turns his attention to the window as Anakin answers the call.

“Hello?” The other man says, and whatever he hears on the other end of the line softens his tone almost immediately. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

Outside the window, which Obi-Wan is pointedly studying as he definitely doesn’t listen to an obviously private conversation, the vast dunes have become rolling plains. Open stretches of long, unmaintained grasses are interspersed with crop fields; he thinks he can spot cows just on the horizon.

“I’m so sorry,” Anakin is saying in that syrup-sweet tone, “I missed my flight! I know, I’m the worst.”

Anakin laughs at whatever the voice on the other end of the line says and yes, those are definitely cows out there. Fascinating.

“I’m driving back instead. I’ll be home in a few days, alright? I love you.”

That sinking feeling settles in his stomach again as Anakin hangs up. The phone rattles when the other man dumps it unceremoniously in the cup holder, groaning miserably. Obi-Wan recognizes it as Anakin attempting to restart the conversation and makes a questioning noise in return.

“Our flight just landed,” Anakin huffs. “I can’t believe I forgot to call them. She was furious.”

“Padme?”

“Leia. My daughter.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, and can’t really think of anything to follow it with, drawn up short by the fact that the man had a _kid_.

Fortunately Anakin doesn’t seem to mind, immediately launching into the oblivious, happy babbling of smitten parents as he explains to his floundering companion all about the girl with no further prompting. She’s three and the spitting image of her mother, but with her father’s stubbornness and fiery tempter. Leia’s going to lead an army one day—she wants to be a General, she says. She’s three, she’s already decided, and nothing is going to change her tiny mind. Apparently, she roughed up a boy in her daycare class a few weeks ago for teasing Luke about the length of his hair, and Anakin bought her an ice cream for it. The verbal lashing he’d received from Padme later had been well worth it.

“Luke?”

“Her brother. Twins. Here, look—”

Anakin plucks the phone from the cup holder and taps excitedly at the screen with his free hand while Obi-Wan continues to silently process the unexpected turn this conversation has taken. It’s not that he’s _unhappy_ that Anakin has kids, they clearly bring him plenty of joy, it’s just something he never would have expected from looking at the man. Anakin is at least ten years younger than Obi-Wan, and he suspects that there may be an even larger gap than that between them, yet somehow Anakin has already managed to settle down with a family. It makes Obi-Wan, who’s still living in a one-bedroom apartment and existing mostly on takeout, feel unbearably old.

“Aren’t they great?” Anakin croons, shoving the device under Obi-Wan’s nose for him to take. As the question is clearly rhetorical, Obi-Wan does not answer.

On the screen are two smiling children, one whom he recognizes as Leia from Anakin’s thorough description and the other whom he assumes is Luke. Luke is, at this age, about the same height as his sister, but with scruffy blond hair and blue eyes instead of his sister’s browns. It must be Halloween, because they’re both brandishing bright orange buckets in the shape of jack-o-lanterns. Leia is dressed, unsurprisingly, in a tiny General’s uniform while her brother is bedecked in what looks like a pilot’s outfit.

“You have any of your own? Kids?” Anakin asks when he takes the phone back.

“Not me, no.”

“Wife? Girlfriend?” After a moment’s pause, “Boyfriend?”

“Not currently. I never got back into it after my last relationship ended. There were more important things to worry about, and it just seemed like unnecessary hassle to add a new partner to the mix. One of the other professors keeps asking me to drinks. Quinlan’s a nice enough fellow, but I’ve learned better than to get involved with coworkers.”

The years he’d spent with Satine were wonderful, but when the political science professor had transferred to a university in Mandalore, neither party had been willing to make the sacrifices to their growing careers in order to sustain a long-distance relationship. They hadn’t exactly parted amicably, but it could have been worse.

“Oh,” Anakin says in a tone Obi-Wan can’t decipher, and the car descends into an inexplicably awkward silence.

“Do you have an idea as to where we’ll be stopping for the evening?” Obi-Wan asks, suddenly desperate for a change in subject. It’s beginning to grow late, anyways, and they will need to stop eventually.

“The exit for Naboo should be coming up shortly,” Anakin replies, apparently just as relieved about the subject changed as Obi-Wan, “I was thinking we can stop there. I know a guy who can give us a discount on a hotel room.”

“Sounds good.”

They pull off onto the exit ramp just as the sun begins to settle over the horizon. The radio station they’d been listening to is crackly with interference, and Obi-Wan fiddles with the buttons while Anakin directs the vehicle toward the approaching town of Naboo. It’s a scenic place, known to draw tourists for its shimmering lakes and rolling hills. Old stone buildings line the roads in the heart of the town, where most of aforementioned tourists will be staying. They crowd the sidewalks and snap photos, oblivious to the passing cars and disgruntled natives. Restaurants and upscale boutiques vie for attention with flashy, oversized signs. Instead of staying the hub of activity, Anakin steers them toward the town’s outskirts, where the traffic dies down and tropical-print shirts are fewer and further between.

Anakin pulls off into the parking lot of an old, worn building that somehow manages to be both charming and ramshackle at the same time. The lopsided sign over the office door reads _Gungan Inn_.

 


	4. Day 1: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only realized after i'd decided I wanted to write Jar Jar that I can't actually write for Jar Jar. Please excuse his terrible dialogue.  
> Also Padme's and Sabe's names should have accents, but I never actually figured out how to do that on a word processor so just pretend they're there.

The large, neon vacancy sign hums softly in the window of the manager’s office; a small bell chimes as Anakin pulls open the door and steps into the room, Obi-Wan following closely behind.

The noise of both are immediately drowned out by the loud, enthusiastic cry of “Annie!”

Jar Jar Binks is a tall man, with gangly limbs and a long neck. His slim figure is draped in an over-large beige shirt and a vest the color of a potato sack hangs open atop that. Large, rounded eyes and a wide mouth give him a strikingly frog-like appearance, and his hair is pulled back into two long parts that drape over his shoulders. To say he’s well matched to his rundown hotel would be an understatement, with his enthusiasm for his work both as charming and off-putting as the hotel’s appearance. Very few people unfamiliar with Jar Jar Binks would willingly entrust the eccentric man with their shelter for the night. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, Anakin has come to know him quite well thanks to their mutual connection to Padme. He’s a family friend, supposedly, but Anakin has never managed to get the story out of how the pair actually met out of the woman.

Binks stumbles out from behind the front desk with his signature gracelessness and bounds across the small room, wrapping Anakin in an enthusiastic embrace. He chokes back the laughter that threatens when Obi-Wan stumbles a few steps back, looking mildly alarmed about the situation. Anakin claps Jar Jar companionably on the back, and they part.

“It’s so good to see yousa, Annie!” Binks says with a smile that shows far too many teeth for the average soul to be comfortable with. “Howsa you been? Howsa Padme and the kids?”

“Padme and I are doing alright. The kids are growing up quick.”

Jar Jar leads the way back to the desk, listening attentively as Anakin once again recounts Leia’s altercation with the neighbor boy. Obi-Wan lags behind, clearly overwhelmed. Anakin has mercy on him and turns when they reach the desk, fishing the car keys from his pocket and offering them to the other man.

“Do you want to start getting our stuff from the car?”

Obi-Wan flashes him a look of relief while Binks is situating himself back into his seat, taking the keys from Anakin with a grateful smile. His fingers brush Anakin’s palm when he does, and Anakin focuses attention back on Jar Jar instead of the lingering warmth left behind by the brief contact. Or Obi-Wan’s backside as he walks away. Anakin doesn’t pay attention to that, either.

“Yousa staying in town long?” Binks asks.

“Just the night. Have to get back to Coruscant, and we’ve still got a ways to go.”

“Hm. And, uh, whosa your friend?”

“Obi-Wan? Met him at the airport. We both missed our flight.”

“Hm,” Jar Jar says again, this time a suspicious narrowing of his eyes that Anakin doesn’t like.

Binks drops a set of room keys onto the counter between them, and Anakin hands over his credit card to cover the cost for the night. Jar Jar is still wearing that suspicious expression when Anakin accepts the card back. He’s quick to snatch up the keys and flees to the parking lot with a hasty goodnight. Obi-Wan is by the car, their bags unloaded, and awaiting Anakin’s direction to the room. His phone buzzes in his pocket while they gather their things. The notification reads _Text Message: Padme_. _Call when you get settled. Kids want to say goodnight_.

The room isn’t anything to write home about. Two beds, standard appliances, the air thick with that strange, unidentifiable odor that seems to be a constant in hotels everywhere. It suits their purposes, however, as they won’t be using it for anything other than a place to get some much-needed sleep.

“You can have first shower,” Anakin says as they dump their luggage on their corresponding beds. “I have to call Padme back.”

Obi-Wan makes an acknowledging noise and begins to dig what he needs out of his bag while Anakin situates his own belongings. The other man disappears into the bathroom, and Anakin slips out of the room, phone in hand.

__

“So? How’s the trip going?” Padme asks once goodnights have been said and Luke and Leia have surrendered the phone back to their mother. Anakin can hear them on the other end of the line, chattering enthusiastically as they go about their bedtime routine. They’re both quite outgoing, which is both a boon and a bane. On one hand, they’re very rarely shy and capable of making friends anywhere. On the other, it can be difficult to hear yourself think over their constant chatter.

“It’s alright so far. Stopped in Naboo for the night. Jar Jar’s place. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m having an illicit affair or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls you later to tell you so.”

Padme’s soft giggles carry over the line. “Oh? Were you being untoward to your traveling companion, Anakin?”

“No! No. It’s just the first time he’s seen us since—well—”

“If he calls, I’ll tell him to get off your back.” Padme says fondly, and Anakin can’t help his sigh of relief.

They’d met during Anakin’s first few weeks in Coruscant. He’d been twenty, then, and a fresh face to the garage Padme visited after her car had an unfortunate run-in with a particularly large deer. She was a student at the university, studying political science, with her eyes aimed on a senatorial position even then. What followed was a whirlwind romance straight from the pages of some trashy novel. Married when Anakin was twenty-one, the twins born a year later.

It was only a year into their parenthood when the pair had realized that, as much as they enjoyed each other’s company, their relationship wasn’t a feasible one. Their personal philosophies clashed, as did their histories. Padme had grown up in a wealthy household, in comparison to Anakin’s childhood spent in the poverty of Tattooine. There were very few matters they found themselves seeing eye to eye on. After Padme’s graduation, her political career becoming a matter of when instead of an if, they’d decided it better to separate than have everything dragged out into the open during a campaign or, god forbid, when she’s in office. Anakin is schooled enough about the value of reputation in politics to know that a scandal could halt Padme’s political career in its tracks.

There were hurt feelings in the months following the divorce when Anakin was twenty-three, but they’d been soothed by the mutual desire to give the twins the best life possible. Now they’ve fallen into the easy friendship, and things between them are well. They hadn’t exactly advertised the divorce, however, which led to the occasional misunderstanding by their mutual friends.

“What’s he like, anyways? This traveling companion of yours?”

“Obi-Wan? He’s, uh… He’s a professor at the university. Maybe you took one of his classes? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Kenobi? I’ve heard of him, but only by reputation. He’s rumored to be a bit of a hard ass. A real stickler for rules. Bail took his class once, thinking it would be an easy credit. Boy was he wrong. How’d you even manage to get him into a car with _you_?”

“Hey!” Anakin scoffs in mock-offence. “I just asked. Must have been my charm and good looks.”

“Must have been,” Padme wryly agrees.

“Speaking of charm and good looks, how’s Sabe?”

Sabe: Padme’s girlfriend and head of security at the government building Padme’s currently interning at. Sabe may not be a physically intimidating woman, but she excels at her job and can be terrifying when she needs to be. Anakin’s seen her drop men twice her size faster than he can blink.

“She’s good. Still at work. We’ve got a big press conference coming up, so she’s stuck there going over all the security protocols again.” A pause. “Are you sure you’re alright, Anakin?”

“I’m fine, Padme. Honest. Obi-Wan seems nice enough. I don’t know a lot about him yet, but I’ve still got three days to figure him out.”

“Ok. Just… be careful, Annie. I worry.”

“I know you do. Love you.”

__

When Anakin slips back into the hotel room, he expects Obi-Wan to still be in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

Instead Obi-Wan’s standing next to his bed, one hand rifling through his suitcase and the other holding up a small, hotel towel that leaves little to the imagination. His hair is still wet, dripping down his neck and shoulders, and the fringe falls in to his face where he’s hunched over his suitcase. His torso is dotted with freckles and scars that Anakin would bet are souvenirs from temple-scouring misadventures.

The sound of the door clicking shut snaps Obi-Wan’s head up, a flush immediately tinging his pale complexion pink. Anakin isn’t any better off, as he can feel his face burning with a mix of mortification and something he isn’t quite comfortable thinking about right now.

“Sorry, I thought you were still—” Anakin sputters, at the same time Obi-Wan says, “Sorry, I forgot my—”

Anakin spins around on the spot, Padme’s words about _polite-stickler-for-rules-Kenobi_ ringing in his ears, far too late to really spare either of them the embarrassment of the situation. For a few agonizing seconds, the sound of Obi-Wan rustling through his bag with renewed vigor is all that is heard. Then the door to the bathroom slams shut, the man apparently having found what he was looking for, and Anakin heaves a sigh of relief.

Honestly, this is ridiculous, he thinks to himself as he glares at the peeling green paint of the door. It’s not like he hasn’t seen a man before. Anakin’s never really favored any one gender over the others, and has actually seen a fair number of men over the years in various states of undress. In fact, he’s always quite enjoyed seeing them. As such, he can not understand for the life of him why he feels like his middle school self in the boy’s locker room while he was going through a mortifying sexual awakening, awkward boners and all. It’s about a decade too late for gay panic.

Obi-Wan clearing his throat draws Anakin from his thoughts, and he realizes that the man has apparently finished in the bathroom and he has yet to move from his spot by the door. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

“I’m done in the shower, if you—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anakin says, quickly gathering his own things and sweeping into the small bathroom while making a valiant effort at not looking at Kenobi.

A frigid shower helps to clear his mind, and he’s feeling more ready to face Obi-Wan when he emerges. Granted, he’s still woefully unprepared for the apology he needs to make. Fortunately, Obi-Wan seems to have decided to spare Anakin the embarrassment, as the lights in the room are off and Anakin can just make out the faint rise and fall of the other man’s chest in the soft moonlight that filters through the curtains. Anakin climbs into his own bed, offering thanks to the gods that Jar Jar still had a double room available. He isn’t sure how they would have handled sharing a bed after what happened.


	5. Day 2: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is an obnoxious little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ the brain: Can you focus please? We have an essay due Friday and 4 pages still to write.  
> The brain: [knocking A Streetcar Named Desire off the desk] Fuck you. Gay space wizards.  
> Me: This is fine...

Anakin's estimate of four days for their trip might have been generous, especially if his companion continues to drive at this pace. Obi-Wan drives like a snail—no, that would be an offense to honest, hardworking snails everywhere. Obi-Wan drives like a snail's grandmother. He maintains a constant speed of two miles under whatever the speed limit happens to be, stops for yellow lights no matter how recently they've changed, and has not ventured from the right lane since they got onto the highway. At this rate, they might just make it back to Coruscant before they're dead.

Another car pulls into the left lane, speeding around them, and Anakin grits his teeth. Maybe he should have insisted on driving again, but Obi-Wan had been so insistent that it was his turn behind the wheel. That was the arrangement they’d made at the beginning of this adventure, after all…

 He's usually content to hold conversation with his traveling partners, but he made the mistake of asking Obi-Wan just who the Jedi even were at least two hours ago and the man has yet to shut up. He supposes he should have known better than to ask. Obi-Wan had told him yesterday that he specializes in the history of these people, after all. But the awkwardness from the previous evening had pervaded in through the morning, and Anakin just wanted it to stop. He'd correctly assumed that the topic would get the conversation flowing, at least. The only problem is that he hasn't been able to get a word in since asking his question. Just a few affirmative hums whenever Obi-Wan pauses long enough in his monologue to alert Anakin that he’s seeking some kind of response.

"—and they had some of the most advanced technology the world had ever seen. Honestly, from what the records we've uncovered imply, it was magnificent. Such a shame most of it was destroyed in the Last Great Sith War. If it hadn't been, I'd image we'd be much further along— you aren't even listening to me, are you?"

"Huh?" Anakin asks, proving Obi-Wan's point for him.

The other man heaves a put-upon sigh, briefly scowling at Anakin before turning his attention back to the road. “Why did you even bother asking if you weren’t going to listen?”

“I just wanted to start a conversation! The tension was stifling in here. I didn’t expect you to start lecturing me on the intricacies of the Jedi lifestyle and weaponry.”

“Hmph,” is Obi-Wan’s only response.

Anakin drums the fingers of his left hand agitatedly against the top of the center console as the minutes and miles stretch on. He feels jittery—cooped up. They’ve been driving for most of the morning, first in awkward silence and then to the noise of Obi-Wan’s lecture, only stopping once on their way out of Naboo to fill up on gas and use the bathroom, since they were down to a quarter of a tank and both of them had treated their hotel’s bathroom like hostile territory before their departure. He’s a naturally active person. Mechanics appeal to him because it allows him to constantly be tinkering with something or other. He doesn’t do well when left to his own devices. It wasn’t so bad yesterday, when he could focus on driving. Now, though, now he’s _bored_ and feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin.

“Do you want to play a road game?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan flashes him a look that reads somewhere along the lines of _are you out of your mind?_

Anakin isn’t crazy yet, not by any legal definition anyways, but he might just lose it if he has to sit in the oppressive silence that’s fallen since Obi-Wan shut up for one minute longer. It’s even worse than when the man was talking. He has a pleasant voice to listen to, even when the subject is boring as all hells.

The rolling plains of Naboo have given way to the towering forests the highway is meandering through in a steady incline, weaving their way up the face of a vast mountain range. Sometimes, when the canopy is thin enough, Anakin can catch a glimpse of distant, white-capped peaks. He hates snow—perhaps as much as he hates sand. It’s wet and freezing and sticks to _everything_. Even years after moving from Tattooine, he’s still not adapted to colder weather. There’s a small part of him that’s certain he never will. Give him Coruscant’s temperate climate any day.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Anakin asks without really meaning to.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan grits out.

Finally, something interesting: watching the tension in the set of Obi-Wan’s shoulders grow with each repetition of his drumming fingers. The man must deal with college students texting below their desks and talking to each other under their breath during his lectures on a near daily basis. Fascinating that something as little as the Anakin’s twitches would frustrate a professor, of all people. There’s a tension in the air that’s different from the awkwardness of their first meeting, or the lingering humiliation of the towel incident. This feels more like the tension he’d feel when he and Padme were still together and he’d wind her up over something little. Those incidents had often ended with Padme, _ahem_ , putting him in his place.

That’s not the reaction he wants from Obi-wan, he tells himself. He’s just curious. Just curious what he’ll do if Anakin pushes. He’s an interesting character, this Obi-Wan Kenobi. Padme’s description of the aloof, level-headed professor hasn’t proved entirely accurate. There’s a person under that shell—Anakin’s seen him in Obi-Wan’s dry wit, in the flush of his cheeks, in the enthusiasm for his (dull) work. Anakin wants to know him. It has nothing to do with the mental image of Obi-Wan reprimanding him in that smooth voice, forcing him to his knees, and—

 _Oh god._ Where the hell did that come from?

“Will you _please_ stop that?” Obi-Wan hisses. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel.

Anakin really should. This is a terrible idea, especially considering the inconvenient discovery of that particular fantasy. A fantasy he definitely shouldn’t be having for a man he’s got to spend the next two days in close quarters with. But he’s come this far, and if there is anything to be said about Anakin Skywalker, it’s that he certainly isn’t a quitter.

So he does it again.

Obi-Wan releases when is definitely a growl, and the car veers sharply right with a jerk of the wheel onto an exit ramp Anakin hadn’t even noticed and they’d almost driven past. He’s positive Obi-Wan just cut somebody off. A sign they pass reads _Rest Stop_. Apprehension lodges itself in Anakin’s throat; constricts his chest and makes breathing difficult. He’s not entirely sure what to expect, equal parts exhilerated and terrified.

The rest stop is a standard-issue brick affair with an overhanging roof that houses an inordinate amount of vending machines. Picnic benches dot the small lawn space, and there are a fair number of other cars in the parking lot, likely due to this being the only stop they’ve passed in miles.

Obi-Wan has parked the car and the door is slamming shut behind his retreating form before Anakin even has a chance to get out of his seatbelt. He fumbles with it, delaying his escape from the vehicle by precious seconds, and Anakin all but tumbles out of the car in his haste.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin calls over the top of the vehicle, stilling the man in his tracks. Kenobi turns to look at him. “Was it something I said?”

The man’s face flushes an impressive shade of red, nostrils flaring, the muscles in his jaw jumping with the clench of his teeth. Anakin suspects that his companion would be telling him _exactly_ what he’s done, likely with an impressive number of profanities, if not for the stares of curious onlookers. Instead, Kenobi spins on his heels and stomps off toward the restrooms without a word. Anakin can’t help the smirk that crawls its way onto his face.

Victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter because I really do need to work on this essay.


	6. Day 2: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achievement Unlocked: Dirty Old Man Status

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was delayed because I intended it to go in an entirely different direction and Obi-Wan fought me tooth and nail over the matter. So here we are. Not where I intended to be, but somehow got here anyways.
> 
> You may notice that I have preemptively bumped the rating. Consider this your first warning. There will be The Sex eventually.
> 
> Also, thanks to all who wished me luck on my essay last time! I made a 98 on it?!?

The rest stop’s bathroom is mostly deserted when Obi-Wan enters, for which he sends silent thanks to the gods. It’s mid-afternoon, and most of the travelers stopped are out on the picnic tables scattered across the small lawn, enjoying packed lunches in the fair weather. He would like to be out there among them, stretching his legs and perhaps calling Mace to update him on his travel situation, but instead he’s locking himself in one of the restroom’s grimy stalls, blood pounding in his ears and an uncomfortable, growing tightness to his slacks like some hormonal teenager.

Honestly, this is just ridiculous.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a college professor. He deals with the antics of students, obnoxious colleagues, and Quinlan Vos’ come-ons day in and day out. He should _not_ be as riled up as he is now, and certainly not over a man who is practically still a stranger. One night doesn’t make them friends—doesn’t even make them acquaintances, really—yet somehow Skywalker has already managed to find just the right combination of buttons to press to send Obi-Wan fleeing from his presence before the older man does something they will both regret.

And there are quite a few things Obi-Wan would like to do to that boy in this moment—starting with taking Skywalker over his knee and teaching him a thing or two about the repercussions of his insolence.

Obi-Wan scrubs a hand down his face and attempts to chase that mental image away with literally anything else. Dead puppies; somebody’s grandmother; Professor Yoda naked. But he hears the bathroom door click closed as the last patron makes their exit and suddenly Obi-Wan is left alone with the stall’s profane graffiti and his thoughts and his stubborn erection.

Damn it all to hell.

He’ll deal with the depravity of fantasizing about a married man who knows how many years his junior at a later date. He’s already been away far too long. Anakin is likely to come looking for him any minute now, and he doesn’t think he could deal with the humiliation of being caught in this state on top of his current crisis of conscience. Obi-Wan fumbles for the zip of his slacks, not bothering to do more than wedge them down far enough to free himself. The sudden sensation of cool air against his heated skin draws an involuntary hiss.

The images are so easy to reach for: Anakin splayed over his lap, the man’s sinfully tight jeans pulled down just far enough to expose his ass, the skin flushed a pleasant shade of red in the aftermath of Anakin’s _lesson_. Watery blue eyes and a remorseful expression. Anakin would beg for Obi-Wan to let him off his lap; beg for Obi-Wan to put him on his knees and let Anakin show him just how sorry he was. His hands tangled in Anakin’s unruly curls, the man’s lips stretched around Obi-Wan’s girth. He remembers the way Anakin looked the night before, when he’d accidentally walked in on Obi-Wan undressed, face flushed and breath hitching with something that wasn’t quite surprise. God, he’s _gorgeous_ —

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan breathes, bracing himself against one side of the stall as the heady wave of orgasm crashes over him.

There’s a crude image of a dick scrawled on the wall near eye-level, accompanied by the words: _Jimmy got off here!_

Me too, buddy, Obi-Wan thinks sarcastically, sucking in deep breaths and trying to calm the rising hysteria. He can see it in his mind’s eye, like one of those video games Satine’s nephew always tried to get Obi-Wan to play.

Achievement Unlocked: Dirty Old Man.

Get Off in a Bathroom Stall to Thoughts of Your Married Traveling Companion.

Quinlan would be so proud of him.

* * *

By the time he’s managed to clean himself up, he’s honestly surprised Anakin hasn’t come looking for him yet. Instead, Obi-Wan has to track _him_ down. He doesn’t have to look far.

Anakin Skywalker, the current bane of his existence, is located over by the vending machines, arms laden with a variety of individually-wrapped snack cakes, bags of chips, and bottled drinks. He’s chatting with a woman at one of the other machines and stuffing yet another bill into his own. There’s no ring on her finger and she’s staring at Anakin like she’s going to eat him alive. When Obi-Wan gets close enough, he realizes that Anakin is regaling the woman with the story of Leia’s triumph over the local bully. Again. Like he's never going to get tired of that story.

“She sounds like such a handful,” the woman is crooning, “you must be very dedicated.”

She leans over to brush garishly painted nails down Anakin’s arm, and Obi-Wan is mortified anew with his behavior when he can’t fight down the hot rush of jealousy that threatens to overwhelm rational thought. Not only does he have no rightful claim on Anakin, but the man doesn’t even seem to notice her advances, babbling on about Leia’s questionable heroics and fishing another snack cake from the dispenser bin.

That doesn’t stop Obi-Wan from shoving his own self-loathing to the side, plastering on a smile that’s probably closer to a baring of teeth, and making his way to Anakin’s side.

“You know Anakin,” Obi-Wan hears himself teasing, “at the rate you’re going, you may have a hard time finding someone you _haven’t_ told that story to yet.”

Both of their heads snap toward him, Anakin with a look that Obi-Wan is hesitant to classify as relieved and the woman with a suspicious narrowing of eyes. Anakin doesn’t shy away when Obi-Wan plants himself firmly at the younger man’s side. In fact, Anakin leans slightly into him, just enough for their shoulders to brush.

“I can’t help it, Obi-Wan, she’s just so cute!” Anakin whines, drawing a chuckle from his companion. “Oh! Obi-Wan, this is Miraj. Miraj, this is Obi-Wan.”

Miraj shakes Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand, and he’s aware of the way her eyes flit between Anakin and himself; the way her lip curls in contempt when she looks at him. This Miraj seems to understand the unspoken implications of Obi-Wan’s proximity, even if they are entirely false. She’s quick to excuse herself after that, citing some transparent excuse and fleeing from his sharp gaze. Good.

He’s quite wrapped up in watching her go—so much so that he nearly stumbles when Anakin slumps against him for real, his back to Obi-Wan’s front. As it is, he has to take hold of Anakin’s biceps to stabilize them and _oh sith,_ he’s quite well built. Obi-Wan is, for the first time, grateful for the effects aging has had on his libido. This situation could go from precarious to disastrous quickly, otherwise.

“Thank god you showed up,” Anakin groans, tipping his head back to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I thought she was going to jump me right here against the vending machines.”

“I’m glad I could be of assistance,” Obi-Wan drawls, trying to ignore the earlier guilt creeping back into the edges of his mind now that there’s nothing to distract him from the fact that they’re alone and Anakin is very warm beneath his palm. “Does this happen often?”

“More than you’d think,” Anakin huffs.

The man shifts, apparently unconcerned with the casual contact and trying to find a more comfortable position to lean in. The rustling of Anakin’s pillaged goods draws Obi-Wan’s attention. He scowls over Anakin's shoulder at the collection—most of which having little to no nutritional value whatsoever.

“Speaking of vending machines. You know it would have been cheaper to stop at the next exit and get something there, right?”

Anakin pulls away then, flashing the older man an offended look. “No way! Eating trashy food is a road trip tradition!”

Obi-Wan isn’t convinced, but accepts an armful of Anakin’s spoils anyways. Apparently the younger man has finished with his raid on the defenseless machines, because he leads the way back to their vehicle without another word. The food will at least keep him occupied for a little while. For that, Obi-Wan is grateful. He could do without another repeat of what happened earlier if he’s going to survive this trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Glare ever write just standard vanilla sex without all that kinky nonsense? No. The answer is no.
> 
> I don't know if I've mentioned Obi-Wan's age, but I kept the 16 year age gap between them. Anakin's 25, Obi-Wan's 41.


	7. Day 2: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Anakin's questionable eating habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1: Fixed the formatting, which was all wonky for some reason?

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, prodding the contents of the bowl before him suspiciously with his fork, “I know you said that eating questionable food is a road trip tradition, but I fear this may be taking it too far.”

Despite the truly horrendous amount of junk food Anakin had consumed following their stop that afternoon, the man was complaining loudly of hunger by the time the evening hours rolled around. Obi-Wan himself hadn’t had much of an appetite, still slightly put off by the sight of his companion scarfing down snacks cakes like some ravenous beast, but had humored Skywalker when it was requested they pull over. The chance to stretch his legs would be appreciated, anyways, and he really did need to call Mace and update him on the situation now that he didn’t have… other matters… to deal with.

Obi-Wan would have much preferred one of the numerous fast food joints available just a few miles further off the exit, but Anakin had pointed him in another direction with an irresistible smile and a proclamation of, “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Yes, Obi-Wan had wanted to say, you have steered me very wrong, but actually giving voice to that particular train of thought might have been the death of him.

Which is how they've found themselves in a small, local diner that seems to have been styled after every horrible cliché imaginable. From the chrome-plated exterior to the black-and-white checkered tile to the sour-faced, middle aged waitress whose muttered complaints can be heard over the outdated music playing from an honest-to-goodness jukebox at the far end of the room, the place all but smothers its customers in the classic diner aesthetic. Customers who, Obi-Wan was quick to notice, seem to play right along with the theme. One of them is selling signed, glossy photos depicting what is supposed to be the local cryptid, but looks closer to blurry image of a man in a gorilla suit from where Obi-Wan is sitting.

Anakin has already purchased one, and seems distinctly pleased with himself.

“Are you kidding?” Anakin scoffs. “Diner food is the best, Obi-Wan.”

The younger man takes another ambitious bite of the greasy burger he ordered, a smug quirk to his lips at the sight of his companion’s distress. Considering Obi-Wan is almost positive he saw that particular sandwich move after the waitress unceremoniously dumped it onto the table, he’s certain that his concerns are well-founded.

Obi-Wan’s own meal isn’t much better. He’d assumed that salad would be a safer option than the hunk of still-mooing flesh Anakin is gnawing on, but as he stares down at the sad bowl of wilted lettuce before him, pushing a questionably fresh cherry tomato around with his fork, he is forced to acknowledge his own folly.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he sighs, dropping the fork into his bowl and pushing it away, contenting himself to an empty stomach for the evening. There are a few packs of crackers that came with his salad laying on the table. They, at least, should be safe to eat, and he pockets them in the event he gets desperate later.

Obi-Wan pulls Anakin’s photo of the Bigfoot across the table for a closer inspection and yes, that is definitely just a man in a gorilla suit.

* * *

They never decided on a specific stopping point for the evening, which turns out to be for the best. Barely two hours back on the road and Anakin is shifting agitatedly in his seat, discomfort flashing across his face in increasingly frequent intervals.

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks, sparing a glance at his companion before returning his eyes to the road. The other man is starting to look a bit green around the edges.

“Yea. I’m just—” A low moan escapes him; he drops his head into his hands and abruptly changes his mind. “—I think we need to pull over.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan murmurs, watching Anakin shudder out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a fleabag motel just off the next exit. It’s the kind of place with an option to rent by the hour, sheets dotted with stains of unknown origin and too-thin walls that do nothing for privacy. It’s the kind of place Obi-Wan would never step foot in willingly, but it’s not like they have any other options. Anakin’s looking worse with every passing minute—wilting like the plants Obi-Wan’s foster father keeps bringing him when he visits even though the man knows Obi-Wan has never managed to pick up his green thumb. The man is gone more often then he’s home, keeps most of his verdant companions in the cab of his truck with him, and still manages to do a better job of caring for the strays he picks up during his travels than Obi-Wan ever could.

“Only got singles left,” the man behind the manager’s desk tells him when he inquires after a room.

It’ll have to do. Obi-Wan snatches the keys from the desk, returning to the car where he’d left Anakin. By then, Anakin is definitely green. It takes most of Obi-Wan’s strength to drag the younger man out of the car, as poor of shape as he’s in. Anakin leans heavily into his side as Obi-Wan directs them toward their room, their bags left in the trunk for now. Getting Anakin settled and figuring out what’s wrong is his top priority. The bags can wait.

He fumbles with the keys, nearly dropping them once—twice—before he manages to get the door open. Anakin immediately breaks from his side and stumbles toward the bathroom, the unmistakable sound of retching following afterwards. Obi-Wan grimaces and takes in the room from his place near the doorway, wanting to give Anakin some privacy but also unwilling to leave him alone in such sorry shape. Anakin could need him for something.

Holey curtains and rumpled bedding, peeling wallpaper, a stain of something that might be blood but he really hopes is wine in the carpet by the foot of the bed, dusty lampshades that cast deep shadows in the nooks and crannies of the room. It’s everything that Obi-Wan expected, but expecting it doesn’t make it easier to stomach. He takes a step toward the bathroom but redirects himself when he hears Anakin starting up again, suddenly intent on stripping the sheets and scouring the mattress for any number of pests known to occasionally plague even the most upstanding of hotel chains. Scowling at nothing, he neatly folds the sheets and sets them on the small nightstand, wondering at his sudden hesitancy to assist Anakin. Hadn’t seeing to Anakin been his top priority only a moment ago, when he’d half-dragged the man to their shoddy accommodations? Why the hesitancy to approach him now?

Obi-Wan knows, of course, that it has to do with the rest stop incident. He’s growing quite fond to Anakin, to the point that he can’t even trust himself to keep a clear head around the younger man. They’re going to be parting ways in two days; there’s no point in letting himself get any more attached than he already is. And he certainly will, if he goes in there and tends to Anakin. It’s in his nature, and one of many reasons Satine and he hadn’t worked. The urge to care for his partners, the desire to nurture and protect, often got the better of him in relationships. Satine had likened it to smothering, and her fierce independence had railed against it. If he goes in there, if he lets himself coddle Anakin, it’s only going to be that much harder to walk away at the end of this endeavor.

A wretched whine emanates from the bathroom, derailing Obi-Wan’s thoughts and breaking his will. The bed appears miraculously free of any unwanted bedmates, and he’s out of options to distract himself with. There’s a stack of plastic cups next to an ice bucket that’s seen better days resting on a small desk in one corner of the room. He takes one, and heads to the bathroom.

Anakin is a mess, sweaty and shaking, hunched over the toilet and gripping it like a lifeline. He appears to have exhausted himself of anything to throw back up, dry-heaving into the bowl instead. Obi-Wan grimaces again in sympathy and turns on the tap of the sink, filling the little cup before kneeling at Anakin’s side. The gentle pressure of his hand on the small of Anakin’s back draws the younger man’s attention.

“These should help,” Obi-Wan offers, extending the cup and fishing the crackers from his dinner out of his pocket. Anakin takes them with a small, grateful twitch of lips. “Slowly. Won’t do you any good if you throw it back up.”

“I think you may have been right about dinner,” Anakin mutters ruefully in between sips of water and nibbles of crackers.

“Have you suffered from food poisoning before?”

“A couple times. Always a risk, traveling as often as I did when I was younger.”

“I’d think you would have learned your lesson about questionable food after the first time.” Obi-Wan reaches out, pressing his hand to Anakin’s forehead to check his temperature.

“I’ve never been very good at learning lessons,” Anakin murmurs, leaning into the contact. His eyelids droop, half-lidded as he stares at Obi-Wan. “Maybe I just didn’t have the right teacher."

Anakin looks disgruntled when Obi-Wan rips his hand away with a sharp intake of breath. “You’ve got a fever, but it isn’t high enough to warrant concern,” Obi-Wan sputters, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer ground and chalking that last sentence up to the effects of the fever. “I have to go get our bags from the car—”

He makes to stand, but Anakin catches his shirt in a tight grip. “Stay,” the younger man is staring at him with wide, panicked eyes, “please?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan hears himself saying, and he’s back on the cool tile of the bathroom floor again.

Anakin squirms around until he’s seated at Obi-Wan’s side, too-warm skin pressing against Obi-Wan’s own. Obi-Wan brushes fingers against his back in soothing circles, and they stay that way until the fever passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food poisoning is the literal worst. I've had it once, and I'm pretty sure I would rather break another bone than suffer through that again.  
> Also, don't know if I've posted it here before, but ya'll are welcome to come hit me up on my [ tumbr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glaregryphon) if you want to come yell at me about gay space wizards or whatever.


	8. Day 3: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my birthday. I am officially 20 today. I celebrated by writing fanfiction.

Anakin surfaces slowly, basking in the comforting sensations around him. His muscles are pleasantly relaxed, his back is pressed against something quite warm, and oh, his mouth tastes like something died in it.

He wakes much faster after that thought.

It's still quite early, according to digital clock on the bedside table; the soft morning light is just starting to filter through the curtains. Already though he can hear activity in the rooms around them: the soft pattering of feet on the floor above them, the low murmur of conversation, doors slamming closed as the other patrons of this seedy motel make their exits bright and early. A hot puff of breath ghosts across Anakin's neck, arms he hadn't yet noticed tightening their grip around his midsection and dragging him further back against the source of heat he'd been basking in earlier.

Kenobi.

When they'd finally tumbled into bed the evening before, Anakin had briefly worried about a scenario almost exactly like this. Padme had often likened him to a python over the duration of their relationship, as he had a tendency to wrap himself around and smother his bedmates. Somehow, however, he's ended up on the other side of that scenario. He wouldn't have pegged Obi-Wan as a snuggler, but evidence suggests otherwise. The older man is obviously still asleep, likely exhausted from fretting over Anakin all night. He's pressed heavily along Anakin's back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, their legs tangled together. It could be awkward, and if it were anybody else it certainly would be. But this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, who Anakin has found himself inexplicably smitten with since meeting him two days prior. So instead, it's quite amusing. Especially considering the fact that Obi-Wan had been settled on the far side of the mattress when Anakin had fallen asleep, suggesting a clinginess that potentially exceeds Anakin's own.

He really should get up, just in case Obi-Wan does wake. From what he's managed to gather about the other man, this unconscious breech of bed-sharing decorum would likely mortify him. Anakin's quite comfortable, though, relaxed for what feels like the first time since receiving the news of his mother's passing. He could drift off again, if he let himself. He rolls over instead, careful not to dislodge Kenobi's grip or jostle him too much, and studies the other man.

They're nose to nose like this, breathing the same air. Kenobi's face is soft with sleep, the worry lines on his brow smoothed over. His fringe falls down in his eyes, lips hanging open just slightly. His breath dances across Anakin's face; he could kiss him like this. Obi-Wan probably wouldn't even notice if he did. Just a quick press of lips, just to see how it feels, just to experience the scratch of Obi-Wan's beard against his own morning stubble...

Eventually, the lingering sour taste in Anakin's mouth chases him out of bed. Extracting himself from Obi-Wan's grip without waking him is a delicate process, but he manages to get free. Kenobi grumbles in his sleep, apparently disgruntled about his missing companion, and Anakin's lips curl into a fond smile before he slips into the bathroom.

When he returns, Obi-Wan is awake, blinking blearily against the morning light. The man sits up, his sleep clothes rumpled, frowning at the empty stretch of sheets between where he’d fallen asleep and where he currently lays, as if wondering how he’d gotten there.

"Mornin' sleepyhead," Anakin says around a mouthful of toothpaste, drawing Obi-Wan's attention from the expanse of cheap cotton.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," the other man slurs.

"You look terrible," Anakin snarks in return, disappearing back into the bathroom to spit and rinse his mouth out.

"It could be because I was up all night caring for someone."

He still hasn't moved when Anakin returns, his eyelids fluttering, looking a moment away from falling back on the bed and surrendering again to sleep.

"Come on, old man." Anakin teases, "we need to get back on the road. You can sleep in the car."

The effect of Obi-Wan's answering scowl is ruined by his bedhead. "I'm only 41."

Anakin helps him up, holding him steady until Obi-Wan gets his feet securely under him. "Still sixteen years older than me."

This earns him choking noise he can't quite decipher, and Obi-Wan shuffles away to rifle through his bag. Anakin adds that the man is definitely not a morning person to the list of things he knows about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

After the previous night—Obi-Wan staying up for hours, holding Anakin and rubbing soothing circles into his back as the younger man clung to him—the morning could be awkward. It isn't, just like waking up in Kenobi’s arms wasn’t. Instead, they go about their routines far more comfortably than the previous morning, rubbing elbows and shoulders as they pass in the small room. It's pleasant, and Anakin is honest enough with himself to admit that he could get used to mornings like this. 

__

In the end, it takes Anakin all but funneling two cups of coffee down Obi-Wan's throat to get the man into a full state of awareness. He complains the whole time about preferring tea, but it's obvious the caffeine is desperately needed. Anakin himself had a few cups, but he was also a veritable coffee addict. Functioning without it is not an option for him. The drink’s warm scent lingers in the inside of the car, and Obi-Wan clutches at third cup in his hands as he watches the scenery roll by. They talk of their lives—passing stories of Obi-Wan’s adventures and Anakin’s misadventures back and forth. There’s a kind of understanding that’s settled between them now that Anakin finds himself enjoying. They’ve both seen each other at what could be argued as their worst. There’s no sense in pretending otherwise, so they might as well move on.

"You know," Obi-Wan says, "you never did tell me just what you were doing in Tattooine. I know you said you had family there, but were you visiting them, or?"

The lull in the conversation that follows stretches for some time, Anakin chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considers the question and Obi-Wan grows visibly distressed at his silence.

“I’m sorry!” Kenobi finally sputters, cheeks tinged pink, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I was just… thinking. I was in Tattooine for a funeral. My mother passed away recently.”

“Oh. Anakin, I’m so sorry.”

A part of Anakin wants to end the conversation there. Obi-Wan would drop it, if he asked. He knows enough about the older man to know that. But he hasn’t talked about Shmi’s death with anyone yet, and that feeling of security from waking up in Obi-Wan’s arms has lingered. The words are tumbling out before he’s even fully decided to say them.

“We all knew it was coming, you know? She had been sick for a while, and we couldn’t afford the best treatments. My step-father’s a farmer; not exactly a stable source of income, especially out in Tattooine. I had some savings stored away, but she knew I had intended to put it towards getting my pilot’s license and turned me down when I offered to help. It was inevitable, but it still—”

Words fail him. Anakin’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel, gaze fixed on the road ahead. He’s not certain how to articulate the bone-deep grief of her loss; he can’t describe the guilt that sits heavy in his gut that he wasn’t there with her at the end. Hot tears sting at his eyes, and he hurries to blink them away.

“My step-father said it was peaceful, that she wasn’t in any pain, but I should have been there for her. I’m not really sure what to do, now that she’s gone.”

Risking a glance over at Obi-Wan, he’s relieved to see none of the pity that graced the features of countless family friends and distant relatives during his time back in Tattooine. Instead, the other man’s face is soft with the kind of unconditional understanding Anakin hadn’t realized he needed. He takes a hand off the wheel to scrub at his eyes and wipe away the few unruly tears that have managed to escape.

“Sorry,” Anakin sniffles, “you probably don’t want to hear about my emotional bullshit.”

“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan reassures, “it’s good for you to talk about it.”

Another silence follows as they both collect their thoughts. Anakin toys with the idea of saying more, but decides against it for now.

“Have you, um, have you ever lost someone?” He asks instead.

Obi-Wan grimaces at that. It seems they’ve both managed to touch on sore subjects. “I never knew my biological parents,” the other man admits. “I grew up in the foster system.”

“Oh.” Anakin says awkwardly. “I’m sorry. That must have been…hard. My friend Ahsoka, she’s apprenticing under me at the garage, she grew up in the system. She never talks about it, though.”

“It was, at times. I was a very difficult child, but there were good times, as well.”

“Really? I have to admit, I can’t really picture you as a troublemaker.”

“I assure you, Anakin, I was quite the menace. There are times when my temper can get the best of me, and I wasn’t nearly as skilled at controlling it as I am now. I bounced around a lot because of it. Never could get on with my foster parents’ other children. There was this one boy, Bruck Chun. I gave him a black eye within a week of moving in. His parents sent me on my way as soon as they were able to get rid of me.”

Unsure of what to say, Anakin remains silent.

“It wasn’t all bad, though. When I was 13, I was placed with my foster father. I ended up staying there until I was old enough to strike out on my own. He was older, had fostered kids before, and was more prepared to handle me than the others were. He taught me how to shave, and drive, and helped me through the crisis of my first crush on a male classmate.”

“He sounds like a great guy.”

“Indeed he is. He was quite disappointed when he discovered I didn’t share his passion for driving. He’s a trucker; just ran day jobs when I was a boy, but now that I’m grown, he’s taken up long haul driving.” Obi-Wan chuckles and ruefully adds, “I bet you and Qui-Gon would get along well.”

Qui-Gon. Unbelievably, Anakin knows that name. “Qui-Gon Jinn?” He asks, just to be sure. “Tall, long hair, cab full of plants? That Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan looks baffled. “Y-Yes? How do you—?”

Anakin can’t help the goofy smile that blossoms on his face. “When I was first moving out of Tattooine, Qui-Gon was the first person to ever give me a ride. He started me on this whole adventure.”

Obi-Wan is still gaping senselessly at him.

“He’s your foster father? Small world.”

“Indeed it is,” Obi-Wan huffs, apparently having regained his composure. The conversation turns to stories about their unlikely connection, and neither notices the time or the miles as they pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, forewarning, i'm actually going out of town tomorrow for my summer gig as a camp counselor and I will not be home for a month. I do not want to leave this story hanging for another month, but my internet access will be almost exclusively from my phone. I will try to update if I am able, but I can not promise anything. Sorry D:


	9. Day 3: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stargazing, revelations, and what you've all been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! And we're back! It's nice to see you all again.  
> This is actually the ~final~ chapter before the epilogue, which is already in the works. Hopefully i'll have it up soon.  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy! This chapter does contain questionably written sex, so consider yourself warned.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know the first thing about stars. Qui-Gon had tried to teach him once or twice in his youth, but the lessons never seemed to stick. He could perhaps point out the North Star if guided to its general vicinity. Anakin, however, seems to be a font of knowledge on the subject. He’s enthusiastically sharing this information, and Obi-Wan isn’t really listening.

His eyes are drawn unfailingly to the ring that hangs around Anakin’s neck. The smooth, silver band seems to glow in the soft moonlight, jostled by the faint breeze and its owner’s near constant fidgeting. Even here, in the middle of the woods in Force-Knows-Where County, Obi-Wan’s young companion can’t seem to settle. Obi-Wan had noticed the ring early in their companionship, but never had the occasion to study it—not like now. Now, in the late hours, when they’re pressed together on the hood of the car and Anakin is prattling on about the constellations his mother taught him so he would never be lost.

The ring catches light again when Anakin pushes himself up on his elbow to point out a particular cluster of stars, and Obi-Wan wonders what crimes he committed in his past life to have landed himself in this situation. He must have done something truly horrendous; there can be no other explanation.

Pulling off the highway to discover that this exit lacked anything resembling a hotel had been quite the disappointment. They could have continued on to the next, but by then night was falling, traffic was barely moving, and both men were sick at the thought of spending another minute on the road. And while there was no hotel, there was a sign for a state park with a campground only a mile or so off the exit. They don’t have any camping supplies, but there’s enough room in the car for a passable night’s sleep and the fee for a site was significantly cheaper than the cost of a hotel room.

The only downside seems to be how stunning Anakin looks, framed by wilderness as untamed as the man himself, eyes alight with excitement and a lopsided grin on his face as he shares this particular passion with his companion.

There are only a handful of other campers in the park tonight, according to the rangers who’d directed them to their site, and they’re scattered around so there’s no one nearby. There is no one to come and interrupt and distract Obi-Wan’s wretched, traitorous heart from pining after the one person in the universe it wants, but can’t have.

He’s faintly aware of Anakin calling his name, but is currently wallowing too deeply in his own self-pity to care.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Anakin is jostling him out of his thoughts, concern creasing the younger man’s brow. “Obi-Wan? You alright?”

Anakin is too close like this, leaning into Obi-Wan’s personal space, all soft blue eyes and plush lips. Temptation incarnate. The elder man curses his inattentiveness, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks as he tries to pull away from Anakin’s grip. He can’t get far, though, without tumbling straight off the hood of the car and making this situation even more embarrassing. Obi-Wan prays to any god that’s listening that he at least wasn’t staring.

“You were looking kind of out of it.”

“I-I’m fine.” Obi-Wan sputters, jerking his gaze away to look anywhere but at Anakin and shrugging the man’s hand off his shoulder.

He apparently doesn’t do as good a job of reassuring the man as he would like, though, as he can feel Anakin’s eyes on him long after he’s stopped talking—considering. Obi-Wan can practically hear the gears in Anakin’s mind turning, trying to puzzle out his reaction, and he can feel his own shoulders tensing as he braces for the inevitable confrontation.

What will Anakin feel, to discover Obi-Wan’s desire for him? Rage? Disgust, even? It will certainly be the end of this new friendship—their easy companionship lost in the wake of Obi-Wan’s inability to control himself.

“ _Oh,_ ” he hears, and thinks he’s going to be sick. “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Are you… attracted to me?”

The _yes_ he manages to choke out is miserable, and likely barely heard over the cacophony of insect chirps and rustling foliage and other night sounds.

He’s caught off guard when Anakin takes hold of his chin, pulling him until he can press his lips against Obi-Wan’s own.

It’s… probably the worst kiss Obi-Wan’s ever had, if he’s being honest.

Anakin had nearly sent him tumbling off the hood in the process of getting him turned around, both of their lips are chapped from the night’s chill, and their noses are pressed together awkwardly thanks to the poor angle.

That being said, it’s a far sight better than having to sleep out on the ground because Anakin didn’t want him in his space overnight, which is kind of what Obi-Wan was expecting. And he certainly isn’t going to complain about kissing _Anakin_.

Anakin, who is warm under Obi-Wan’s hands and is so compliant when Obi-Wan bullies him into a better position for this sort of thing. Anakin, who is funny and smart and strong. Anakin, who is—

Married.

Anankin is married.

Prying himself from Anakin’s grip is a difficult task, especially considering that Obi-Wan doesn’t _really_ want to let go of him. He has to, though. He can’t let Anakin make this mistake; he can’t stand the thought of being the cause of problems between him and Padme. They seemed so happy together in the stories and photos Anakin shared.

Anakin keens when Obi-Wan breaks the contact between them, pushing away and stumbling a few steps away from the car—well out of reach. They’re both breathing heavily, and Obi-Wan can feel the earlier guilt about his lack of control rushing back ten-fold.

“Obi-Wan? What’s wrong?”

“Anakin, we can’t do this.” Obi-Wan tries to keep his voice stern and level, like he would with his students, and thinks he does a passable job considering Anakin is splayed sinfully over the hood of the car and Obi-Wan would like nothing more than to get back to what they were doing.

“Why not?” Anakin asks, the pout from their first day together making a reappearance.

“Why not!? Anakin, I… We… You’re married!”

Obi-Wan nearly laughs when Anakin has the audacity to look surprised. He paces instead, trying to spend some of the pent-up energy he’s feeling.

“What?” Anakin asks.

 “You’re married, Anakin!” Obi-Wan hisses, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It should be, considering.

“I’m not married.”

“Oh, and that ring around your neck is just for decoration, then?”

One of Anakin’s hands futters up to catch hold of the silver band. He looks down at it for a moment, before letting it fall against his chest again.

“Um, yes, actually.”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to be brought up short. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m divorced,” Anakin admits, fumbling for the right words. “I _was_ married. Padme and I, for a little while, but we didn’t work out. We still see each other a lot because of the twins, but we aren’t, like, _seeing_ each other. I kept the ring because I still care about her, and I don’t want to just pretend like that part of my life never happened, you know?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says awkwardly. “I… suppose I owe you an apology, then.”

“It’s fine.”

The silence that follows is tense, and Obi-Wan has no idea how to proceed now that he’s made an absolute fool of himself. Anakin slides off the hood, padding tentatively over to where Obi-Wan is standing. His movements are slow, as one might move around a startled animal, until he finally stops in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan stares at their shoes.

Anakin clears his throat, trying to draw Obi-Wan’s attention back up to his face. He’s uncharacteristically hesitant, following their confrontation. “I’d, um, I’d like to kiss you again, if that’s alright.”

“I’d like that, too,” Obi-Wan whispers, and then Anakin’s hands are cupping his face and the younger man’s lips are back on his own.

He would like to say that he keeps his composure this time, since he knows the kiss is coming. It would be a lie, of course. With the end of their trip a looming deadline and the knowledge that Anakin wants him a pleasant buzz in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan finds himself pressing forward, slipping his tongue between Anakin’s parted lips and taking control of the kiss. Anakin submits without a fuss, allowing Obi-Wan to guide him backwards until he’s pinned between older man and the side of the car.

Anakin’s hands tug at the bottom of Obi-Wan’s shirt, their owner releasing a frustrated whine when Obi-Wan catches hold of him, forcing him to be still.

“Impatient, are we?” Obi-Wan purrs, taking the opportunity to bend his head and nip at Anakin’s throat. He’s almost positive that there will be marks there in the morning, but can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it.

Finally taking pity on his young companion, Obi-Wan releases the man and tugs his shirt off, baring the skin that Anakin is so eager to get to. Anakin hastily moves to pull his own shirt off, dropping it unceremoniously at their feet where Obi-Wan had allowed his own to fall.

Anakin’s hands are on him immediately, roaming up his chest and back down his sides as Skywalker relishes in finally being allowed to touch. Obi-Wan takes his time in exploring Anakin’s own body, pressing lazy kisses to the man’s mouth and neck as he traces the planes of muscle until Anakin is writhing against him.

“I want you to fuck me,” Anakin pants against Obi-Wan’s ear, hips rolling against Obi-Wan’s in emphasis and forcing a groan from the older man’s lips. “Please, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan is more than happy to comply with that request. “Yes, yes. Anakin, yes.”

Anakin reaches for the handle of the car door, a smug smile on his face. Their shirts lay out in the dirt, forgotten, as they try to orient themselves in the backseat of the car and squirm out of what remains of their clothes. It’s not quite large enough for the two of them, and they find themselves giggling like children every time they accidentally bump heads or knock knees. Eventually, though, their pants lay discarded on the floorboard and Obi-Wan has settled comfortably between Anakin’s thighs, grinding his hips down against Anakin’s while his young companion makes the most delightful of noises.

The velvety slide of their erections against each other and the sinful moans slipping past Anakin’s lips would probably be enough to get Obi-Wan off if he allowed it, but now that Anakin has made his request, he’s intent on seeing it through. He silences the man temporarily by pressing two fingers into his mouth, which Anakin happily licks and sucks until they’re slick with spit.

Obi-Wan works one finger carefully into Anakin’s opening, then two, stretching him open and crooking his fingers until he brushes against the spot that makes Anakin keen. Finally, Anakin is loose and panting beneath him, pupils blown wide with lust, and Obi-Wan realizes—

“I, um, don’t have a condom,” he says, which is probably the least sexy thing to have ever come out of his mouth in a situation like this. There’s also the matter of lubricant, but if they can’t find a condom, they’re probably not going to be needing the lube anyways.

It takes Anakin a full minute to process that statement through his pleasure-addled brain.

“Oh. Oh! Hold on, I have—”

The younger man tries to sit up, which upsets the precarious balance they’d managed to find and nearly sends them tumbling in a definitely unsexy tangle of limbs. They only just manage to catch themselves, and Anakin opts for settling back and allowing Obi-Wan to fetch his coat—the one with the ridiculous amount of pockets—from the front seat.

In one of those pockets is, miraculously, exactly what they need.

“I didn’t exactly plan on getting laid at my mom’s funeral,” Anakin says with a sheepish grin, “but better safe than sorry, right?”

Obi-Wan can’t help the laugh that slips free, and he would kiss the man if…

Well, there’s nothing actually stopping him from kissing Anakin, so he goes ahead and does that.

Anakin’s erection has mostly flagged by the time Obi-Wan is finally seated inside him, but that can be remedied. Taking Skywalker’s cock in hand, Obi-Wan strokes him in time with his thrusts, relishing in the whimpers that slip past Anakin’s lips. His arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s neck, urging him closer, nails biting into the skin of Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

Obi-Wan can feel pleasure pooling white-hot in his gut, can feel himself balancing on the edge of orgasm. Anakin is a beautiful sight beneath him, hair fanned across the seat, chest heaving, writhing and rocking into every thrust and tug of Obi-Wan’s hand.

“Come for me, Anakin,” he growls into the man’s ear. “Come on, dear one, I know you can.”

 Anakin, bless him, does only a moment later, spilling across Obi-Wan’s hand and their chests. Obi-Wan follows quickly after.

* * *

“We’re probably not going to get our deposit back on the car,” Obi-Wan later notes as they bask in the pleasant afterglow. They’re still tangled together in the backseat, though they have put their underwear back on in case of passersby, and neither seems to have any intention of moving.

“Worth it,” is all Anakin has to say on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Asexual Safe Sex Advocate here to remind you that condoms are sexy. [a photo of me giving a thumbs up]  
> Hope the sex scene went ok. I don't write smut often, so I struggled quite a bit with it. I almost dropped the rating back down and cut it out completely. Oh well. Practice makes perfect in all things, I suppose.  
> Anyways, thanks for stopping by. See you next time!


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue is set roughly two years after the events of the last chapter.

Obi-Wan is just putting the finishing touches on the place settings when a voice calls, “Obi-Wan! Qui-Gon’s here!” from the front porch.

The house is alive with the sound of its occupants: Anakin cursing up a storm in the kitchen, likely having burned himself on yet another pot, and Padme reprimanding him for his carelessness; Barriss and Sabe speaking in soft tones in the living room, swapping stories about their partners’ antics if their occasional giggles are anything to go by; the patter of Artoo and Threepio’s paws as they race toward the front door, sliding across the hardwood and bumping into furniture. Obi-Wan would have never thought that such a noisy house could ever become his home, but somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with the activity and the strange little family that caused it.

Leaving the rest of the silverware for later placement, Obi-Wan follows the noise of excited dogs to the entry hall. The front door itself is open, but the screen door behind it is firmly shut to prevent any unwanted insect visitors from making their way indoors. Throwing it open, he lets the hounds tumble out ahead of him before even attempting to make his own way outside—a lesson learned after being literally swept off his feet by their enthusiasm on one too many occasions. Threepio immediately bounds over to where the twins are playing a rousing game of hide-and-seek with Ahsoka Tano, only to earn protests when the golden retriever inadvertently reveals the children’s hiding spot in his haste to greet them. Artoo, Anakin’s grey and white bulldog, waddles down the driveway to inspect the newcomer.

The old, rusty pickup Qui-Gon drives in his off-hours stands out amongst the rows of white picket fences and perfectly manicured lawns. Its owner is dressed in his standard plaid shirt and blue jeans, his long, greying hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of his face. He’s kneeling on the cement of the driveway, scratching behind Artoo’s ears, apparently unfazed by the growling and snorting that usually keeps new visitors well away. Then again, Qui-Gon always did have a gift when it came to Obi-Wan’s so-called _pathetic creatures_.

“I must admit, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, getting to his feet when Obi-Wan nears and giving his a slightly dazed smile, “when you told me you moved, I expected a bigger apartment. Not… suburbia.”

Obi-Wan laughs at that. “I didn’t expect it, myself, but everything just seemed to fall into place. I certainly can’t say that I regret the decision.”

“As long as you’re happy.” Qui-Gon pulls Obi-Wan into a tight hug, and they stay like that for a moment, simply relishing in seeing each other again after the separation that comes with busy lives.

The peace is shattered by an excited shriek from Leia, followed by Threepio’s barking, and Obi-Wan pulls away to make sure that the group isn’t getting into too much trouble. As much as he trusts Ahsoka, the girl is closer to the twins’ teenage sister than any real parent and sometimes they managed to get into quite a bit of mischief together. Qui-Gon follows his line of sight and watches Ahsoka chase the twins as they race towards “base”, which in this particular game seems to be the front porch, Threepio tagging at their heels.

In all the correspondence they had done about Obi-Wan’s new life out of bachelorhood, he’d yet to mention the twins. Not because he’s ashamed of Anakin’s children, he would lay down his own life for them if it came down to it, but simply because he could never find the right way to say it. He figured Qui-Gon wouldn’t have a problem with Obi-Wan’s new partner already having children from a past relationship, but the infinitesimal chance that he _could_ had kept him dancing around the subject in most of their conversations. Qui-Gon doesn’t say anything about Obi-Wan’s deception, and simply watches them play with a fond smile on his face.

"They seem like nice children." Qui-Gon observes. "Whose are they?"

"They're... mine, actually. Mine and Anakin's."

In Obi-Wan’s opinion, his foster father handles discovering that he now has two grandchildren quite well.

“Come on,” he says, patting Qui-Gon on the shoulder and starting back to the house, “I’ll introduce you to everyone. Dinner should be almost done.”

Seeing the pair making their way up the drive, Ahsoka rounds up Luke and Leia and ushers them into the house. The dogs follow behind, with father and son bringing up the rear. The children immediately dart into the living room to share their adventures outdoors with Sabe and Barriss, and Ahsoka disappears into the kitchen to help Anakin and Padme with the last of the dinner preparations.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stop in the entrance hall to remove their shoes, and Obi-Wan catches his father studying the numerous picture frames that line the walls. They’re mostly shots of the twins at school functions and playing around the house, but there are a few photos interspersed of Padme and Sabe, Anakin, and himself as well.

The one Qui-Gon is currently studying has a white frame, standing out among the black of all the rest. It’d been a gift from Padme when he and Anakin had moved into the new house, and Anakin had insisted on hanging it amongst the collage despite Obi-Wan’s numerous protests. It’s a selfie Anakin had taken the morning after their rendezvous in the backseat of a rental car, and features the two of them from the torso up. Obi-Wan had still been asleep, and in the photo is draped over the top of a stupidly grinning Anakin, drooling all over the younger man’s shoulder. The script on the bottom of the frame reads _Just Married_ , which Obi-Wan knows for a fact is the caption Anakin included with the picture when he originally sent it to Padme, thereby inspiring the gift. Qui-Gon, thankfully, just chuckles softly and heads into the living room without pointing out the inordinate number of hickeys on Anakin’s bared throat, as several less mannered guests had during their visits. Obi-Wan would berate his past self for being overzealous if he wasn’t still just as terrible about leaving his partner covered in bruises.

In the living room, Luke is sitting in Sabe’s lap and babbling on about their latest adventures with the neighbor boy, Han, while Barriss listens intently. Leia is in the floor, wresting with Artoo and creasing the outfit Obi-Wan knows Anakin agonized over all morning. Oh well. What’s a few more wrinkles and dog hairs when Obi-Wan can spot several smears of grass stain and mud just from where he’s standing? Padme and Ahsoka have returned as well, leaving Anakin alone in the kitchen.

“Everyone, this is Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan says, drawing their attention to the man. “Qui-Gon, this is Luke and Leia, their mother Padme, and her partner Sabe. We also have Ahsoka, who works with Anakin, and Barriss, her girlfriend.”

“Hello,” they chime, and Qui-Gon fixes them all with his trademark warm smile.

Another loud crash sounds from the kitchen, and Obi-Wan excuses himself to check on his notoriously clumsy partner. Qui-Gon has settled into an armchair, apparently content to engage in small talk with the other adults for a moment while Obi-Wan sorts out Anakin. His poor partner had spent the better part of the week fretting over this “family dinner”, especially after finding out that Qui-Gon would be able to attend. Everything from the menu to where everyone would sit had been planned, the kids’ outfits picked out days in advance, the home rendered as spotless as a building that houses two five year olds can get.

Obi-Wan has tried to talk him down from his panic several times, to no avail. Anakin is… genuinely worried that Qui-Gon will have decided that he doesn’t like Anakin anymore, now that he’s grown and living with the man’s son—worried that he won’t like _them_ , as Anakin comes package deal with everyone sitting out there in the living room. No amount of reassurances that Qui-Gon will still like him, that he wouldn’t mind the strange family dynamic they’ve cultivated, could calm his nerves. When Obi-Wan enters the kitchen, he’s leaning over the stove in the ridiculous, frilly apron, reading _World’s 2 nd Best Dad_, that the twins had gotten him for father’s day. He’s stirring a pot of something Obi-Wan knows wasn’t on the menu but has been made anyways while Anakin attempts to keep himself busy, looking like he’s going to be sick if left to his thoughts another moment longer.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist, pulling Anakin against back his chest, “what’s the matter, dear one?”

“What if this was a huge mistake?” Anakin whispers, sounding very, very small. “What if he hates me and hates us and doesn’t want you to be a part of our lives? What if this is all too weird?”

“Hey,” Obi-Wan pulls away, adjusting his grip to Anakin’s hips and physically turning the younger man around to face him. Anakin’s eyes are puffy, cheeks stained with the beginnings of tears. Obi-Wan reaches up and brushes them away, his heart aching for his partner. “That’s not going to happen, ok? But even if it does, even if he doesn’t like this, it won’t change anything. It won’t change how I feel about you, about the kids, about anyone.”

“You say that now,” Anakin sniffles.

“Would you like me to prove it, then?” Obi-Wan asks, earning a confused look from the younger man. “I had intended to do this after dinner, but I think now seems like a more appropriate time.”

Anakin’s eyes widen in shock when Obi-Wan reaches into the inside pocket of his coat, fishing out the small, velvet box that’d weighed inexplicably heavy all night and drops carefully to one knee.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he says, hoping he sounds as sincere as he feels, and opens the little box. Inside rests a single gold band. It’s nothing extraordinary, but it’d caught Obi-Wan’s eye in the shop none the less. “I would like it very much if you’d marry me.”

Anakin’s eyes jump from the ring, to Obi-Wan, and back again before the man squawks out, “I’m wearing an apron!” as though that has any bearing on the situation at hand.

“And you look quite dashing in it,” Obi-Wan chuckles, “but that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Of course I will, you idiot,” Anakin huffs, dragging Obi-Wan upright by the lapel of his coat and into a hard kiss.

They only realize that they’d gained an audience at some point when an excited squeal emanates from the doorway. The pair break apart, turning to find a delighted Ahsoka with her phone out, likely having filmed the whole thing. She takes off back toward the living room, and both Anakin and Obi-Wan break into laughter, the younger tucking his head into the elder’s shoulder to stifle his giggles.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan says, pushing Anakin away and straightening his apron, “we should go share the news, before Ahsoka spoils the surprise.”

They share another kiss, chaste and sweet, before heading out the door after Ahsoka, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first draft of this chapter, Obi-Wan did not propose. This was the second draft, and his popping the question came completely out of left field. Why are these gay space wizards so uncooperative I s2g.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you've all enjoyed this fic! I had a wonderful time writing it, and I love each and every one of you for sticking around until the end. Your support and kind words have meant the world to me.  
> Until we meet again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks much for reading! Comments & Kudos are appreciated!


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